I wasn't always like this. Most of my life I've been meek and obedient. The perfect child of Cavern D.
I have happy memories of growing up here. Mother's warm, raggy hugs. Father's beardy, scratchy kisses. Baby Derrik, all squirmy and giggly and snuggly in my arms.
And our home, tiny and hot, sitting at the top of the stoneshack heap of Cavern D.
Just as it is now, when I was very young our Cavern woke to the tolling bell each morning, as the greenish glowlines embedded in the walls flickered on to start a new day. We left our stoneshacks at the same time, shimmying down the ladders to our neighbor's roofs, then down more ladders to more roofs, and finally to the pebbled ground below. The low shimmer of the glowlines -- the only light allowed in the Under -- blanketed us brown-clad subjects in green undertones as we walked to work. Every morning, my dusty little bare feet flitted over the dips, pebbles and broken tiles of the cavern floor as I pushed through the throng. Father always called me over their heads but I pretended not to hear him.
It was our little game.
Coarse robes, bare legs and feet, gnarled hands clasping sharp pickaxes or the split, wooden handles of rusty shovels. I pushed through and around them all, bent on one goal -- to get to our family spot before Father and prove I was finally big enough to explore the dark cracks in the quarry walls. I never did beat him. I never got the chance.
Not long ago -- it can't have been more than two cycles -- the game turned serious.
As always, I was running to beat Father. Too big to flit through legs anymore, I still pushed between the people on either side, laughing while Father called to me.
"Squire! Come back!"
I didn't note the change in his tone -- the fear that rose up like a wind -- until it was too late. Before I had a chance to see what was upsetting him, I ran right into what felt like a stone wall.
I looked up at the wall, and the wall looked down at me. My breath stopped. Underneath a soft white hood, a cold glow glared where eyes should have been. Thin, bloodless lips were pursed below a set of ragged holes that only barely resembled a nose. The body, tall and thin, was covered from shoulders to floor in robes that matched the hood.
I'd never seen one before, but I knew instantly what it was.
A Knight of Bask.
I'd heard of the Knights, of course. Everyone knew of the white-clad specters who policed the Under to keep peace among the people. I'd even seen a few from far away. But Cavern D never really needed much policing -- the subjects of my home were blindly obedient to Bask -- so I'd never been this close to one before.
It stunk like rotten holemole meat.
The Knight turned away from me without a word. I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. Within the next moment the crowd pushed back violently, knocking me to the ground. Pickaxes clattered to the floor, screams echoed everywhere, and I looked up to see the Knight holding someone up by the neck.
I knew her. Her name was Eileen. She'd smiled at me often during our work in the quarries. Though I'd never spoken with her myself, other children always gathered around her, picking up the scraps she handed them as she chipped away at the walls. As she worked, she spoke softly to them. I never heard what she said -- Father didn't want me to stray from our family spot -- but the children always seemed happy to listen.
Eileen the gentle.
She had been softly wrinkled in the face, with sharp green eyes and graying brown hair always pulled back neatly into a torn scrap of robe. Now, her face was purple and bloated from choking, her eyes bulged out sickeningly, her hair free and frizzy, half-covering her face and damp with sweat. Her legs jerked under her brown robes in an unnatural way I'll never forget as the Knight moved through the parting D'ers, heading toward a nearby hole in the ground.
An oobli.
They littered the floor here and there, deep, dark holes with bottoms set in wicked spikes. Most of the time the ooblis were empty, but we were always taught to stay safely away from them, and everyone knew what they were for.
Punishment.
The Knight stopped at the oobli, holding the jerking woman over it in one hand.
"Bask has spoken," it bellowed. "The heretic shall be no more."
Without another word, it dropped the woman and walked away. Just dropped her, like she was nothing. Like she was trash.
I ran again. No longer laughing. No longer playing. I ran as hard and as far as I could, but I still haven't escaped Eileen's gurgling screams.
I don't think I ever will.